Sometimes, Cheryle, experiences outside of our ‘comfort zone’ can be the most inspiring experiences. It’s taken me many years to learn this as I’m shy, reserved, quiet and a little bit unsociable :))), but I find when I make the effort to do something which is unsettling, I derive great pleasure and a sense of achievement which (sometimes) spurs me on to get involved in other uncomfortable places. Thank you for sharing.

Today was a day filled with children and activities definitely outside my comfort zone. Today the Community Association held its Winter Carnival. Today I played with children of all ages. Some were three and some were eleven and the others were all the ages in-between.

Yes, I helped out at the colouring contest table sponsored by the Ogden Seniors 50+ Activity Club. We had a multitude of Christmas pictures to colour, crayons, and prizes to be won. The kids lined up at our table excited to spend a few minutes shading stockings, wreaths, and Christmas trees with the waxy crayons. A chance to win a five dollar McDonalds gift card was an easy enticement for many of the young people tagging along behind their Mom or Dad as they wandered from booth to booth. Alone in their zone, they chatted quietly about their schools, their ages, their siblings and in some…

I never imagined as a pupil at John D Primary school ever writing about two of my classmates in years to come. It didn’t occur to me that at the time I was learning valuable life lessons. It is only now in retrospect that I see how important it is to value every thing that life throws at you, however painful. There is wisdom in looking carefully and profoundly at certain events which colour one’s life and paint the picture that is your life. To relegate disappointments to the dustbin of life is to throw away pearls. Pearls are not always beautifully shaped and formed when they are discovered: much goes into the process of refining them so that they become a beautiful adornment. You may wish to wear them or you may wish to lock them away in a vault, but either way, their beauty is evident and can never be lost.

Jenny M taught me about human frailty, loyalty and trust. Jenny C taught me about humility, friendship, gentleness and creativity, and ultimately the act of giving. Now these two shared the same Christian name, but apart from that they differed physically and in their characters. I still recall Jenny M’s brilliant emerald green eyes and raven black hair. She was a very pretty girl and I can only imagine that she would become stunningly beautiful. Jenny C was blonde, blue eyed and not at first obviously pretty, but there was beauty in her genuine smile and those innocent blue eyes. The two were such opposites: light and dark, soft and gentle (JC), tough and a go-getter (JM), both were my friends. Interestingly I see myself in all their characteristics and that could be why I gravitated to them and they to me.

Jenny C taught me about the act of giving and receiving. It was my 11th birthday. When Jenny C found out that it was my birthday she said she had a present at home to give me. I became excited at the prospect of this, wondering what the gift could possibly be. All sorts of things went through my mind and I eagerly awaited the gift. But days went by and there was no gift forthcoming. I became disappointed, then anxious, and finally embarrassed. It was obvious that Jenny C had been untruthful about the gift she had bought me. Each day, for over the course of a week she would come in and not quite meeting my expectant eyes offer up an excuse why she hadn’t been able to bring the gift into school.

It came to the point where I tried in my own way to let her know that I understood that she had made a promise that she was not able to keep. By the end of maybe the second week I had long given up hope of ever receiving anything from her, and I sensed in her something that I couldn’t quite articulate. It was as if she thought so highly of me that she wanted my friendship and she wanted to be able to give me something that would be a symbol of the esteem in which she held me. These are my adult thoughts on the matter and my interpretation of her actions. This is what I felt aged 11, but I would never have been able to put it into words.

Then one Friday, she asked if I could follow her home to pick up the gift as she had forgotten to bring it with her to school. She didn’t live too far away from school and I could go around to her home and get the gift and still be home by the time I was expected home. So I followed her to her house and we entered her bedroom after having greeted her mother. It became obvious that her mother was not very well off and was a single parent. But then neither was my family well off – at the time we were living in two rooms at the top of my uncle’s house.
Jenny C placed the carefully wrapped present in my hands. It was wrapped in what looked like tissue paper and tied with string. I opened it. Inside were some shells, some pebbles and some coloured beads with a small piece of paper on which was written birthday greetings to me. My disappointment was palpable. I didn’t know that at the time as I didn’t know the word ‘palpable’ but having learned it now, I look back and realise that was how I felt.

I had the good grace to offer up a weak smile and thank her very much and off home I went with the gift which I looked at once more when I got home disdainfully before putting it somewhere. I don’t think I looked at it ever again. It is only now through adult eyes that I treasure that gift and how much trouble Janet C had gone to, to give me something to show how important I was to her. In my childish expectant way, I had looked for something which she plainly could not give me. She had no money. Her mother was plainly struggling. She had the creative sense to put together some stones, beads and shells – all she had, tie them up with string and to give them to me with love.

How often is something given to us, something precious, not costing the earth in terms of monetary value, but symbolically valuable? How do we receive the gift of love? And do we recognise it when we see it? Now as an adult I see how precious that gift from Jenny C was. What a contrast to Jenny M’s gift?

Summing up, both gifts were valuable in terms of learning. I have learned that trust needs to be earned and not given away and that precious gifts do not have to cost money. It’s not the gift that is important, it is the act of giving and what it symbolises to me.

This story has very little to do with politics or Ireland, but it features memories of a time when I was a school girl many years ago. And the reason I have decided to talk about it is because it threw up a very important lesson about friendship for me at a time when lessons were being learned continually, but of course, the effect of a lesson learned in childhood does not have the poignancy of a lesson learned and reflected on when one is much older.

What actually happened was this: As a ten year old, I became friends with Jenny M who was a lovely Irish girl. She was bright and funny and smart. What I did not know at the time was that Jenny M would betray me and our friendship with little thought to the consequences. Now as ten year olds, if you cast your mind back, what is the most important thing to a child? My answer would be, finding solidarity with someone likeminded, feeling a sense of belonging, being accepted and being happy. Unless you’re far more advanced than your years, and you aspire to greater things, just knowing that there is someone in the class room and the playground who you can identify with goes a long way to feeling at peace in your own small world.

It was lunch time, and we were queuing for our lunch. Imagine: noisy, boisterous girls and boys, a dinner hall, buzzing with chatter and laughter. China and cutlery clinking against the backdrop of hungry children, released from classes and lessons, not silenced by the need to conform. Individuality coming to the fore, wanting to impress, wanting to assert their sense of who they are, vying for attention, perhaps a little confused about their place in the world, but on a huge learning curve.

The school dinner lady (one of say 2 or three others) was serving the meal. I don’t know how hungry Jenny M was, (she may not have had breakfast that morning) but she boldly asked for three sausages. The Irish dinner lady refused saying that Jenny M was only allowed two. Jenny was upset, angry, embarrassed that she had asked but had not received. She turned to me, and whispered: “The Irish c*w!” and swearing me to secrecy: “Don’t tell her I said so!”.

Wanting to be a good friend, shy, wanting Jenny’s approval and feeling accepted and part of a great confidence, I smiled, shook my head, and promised not to repeat what she had said.
Several days later, the incident still fresh in my mind, Jenny M and I were in the school playground and I can’t remember the exact thing that happened, but it involved the Irish dinner lady. Thinking that I had a good friend and confidante, I approached Jenny M and told her what happened. Believing that she was a true friend I repeated her words: “…the Irish c*w!” And asked Jenny, as she had asked me not so long ago not to tell Mrs I.

So what did Jenny M do? She promptly went straight to Mrs I, our Irish dinner lady and said: “Miiissss …Marie said that you are an Irish c*w”. Mortified, I could hardly believe what I heard and saw. This supposedly good friend had betrayed me with little thought as to how I would feel, and how much she had betrayed our friendship.

Of course I was hauled to the Headmaster’s office and I was duly reprimanded. But that day I learned a very important lesson as a 10 year old. Be careful who you put your trust in. In a way it was a
good lesson, painful yes, but it stood me in good stead for the rest of my life. At the time, I had no words for how I felt. I think I forgave Jenny M. Now, looking back, clearly this incident impacted me and the way I view others. Was Jenny a real friend? Should we factor into friendships, the possibility that a friend is capable of betrayal and should we take into account what may/may not have been going on in their life at the time of betrayal. And is betrayal ever something that can be forgiven if there were extenuating circumstances? As 10 year olds – do we know who we really are and do we have the maturity to be a true friend?

I will have to speak about the other Jenny in part 2 of ‘The Irish Question’.

Day 3 of Writing 201, and the assignment is to use the prompt below: “trust” and also to use the acrostic form (optional) and the device of internal rhyme.

Your prompt: trust
Today’s word is trust: write a poem in which you address, reflect on, or tell a story about the feeling of trusting or being trusted by another (person, animal, object, potted plant…). Or about distrusting them (or not being trusted yourself).

Here For You

Trials and tribulations may come to someResting rudely on battered soulsUndoing life’s pleasures, making no sense,Severing bonds and breaking faithTake heart my friend on me you can depend

I have not reblogged the whole post, but have taken this paragraph from Karenzai’s blog to illustrate my poem’s message which is to be there for those who are depressed, sad, call it what you will. Be there if you possibly can. It really helps.

“Under Reconstruction”
“Musings on mental health, urban education, the sanctity of life, and other things I may come to care about.” http://karenwriteshere.com

“You don’t need empathy to support a depressed person”
“And yes, I wished I had people in my life who fit the above descriptions, and I was indeed blessed with at least one such individual, but it didn’t erase the deep pain of being “left behind”. And one thing I’ve come to realize over a few cycles of depression is this: depressed people don’t need you to empathize; they just need you. A depressed person would rather have you say all the worst possible things, rather than not have you at all.”
~ karenzai

In The Valley

Where the cold winds blow
Down in the valley
That’s where she lay
for a night and a day

She hoped that someone would
come looking in the valley
where alone and lost she lay
for a night and a day

It was hard for her
to communicate sadness
Lost in the valley
all alone in the valley

For those in the valley
All hope can seem fleeting
Shine your light on them today
Be the beacon to light their way

Down in the valley
Empathy is not needed
Sympathy is superfluous
You are all that’s needed
down in the valley